


there's something wretched about this

by Sashaya



Series: Prompts [2]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Amnesia, Game: Resident Evil 6, Hospitals, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Piers Nivans Feels, Post-Edonian Civil War, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24204724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashaya/pseuds/Sashaya
Summary: Piers stays by his side, by his bedside.Forgotten little soldier. He still breathes.
Relationships: Piers Nivans/Chris Redfield
Series: Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745740
Kudos: 14





	there's something wretched about this

**Author's Note:**

> _**Disclaimer:**_ _I don't own any of the characters._
> 
>  _Warning:_ Unbeta'ed work.
> 
> Prompted by my wifey, Dżoda: "You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

There’s nothing exceptionally soothing about the rhythmic beeping of the machines or the white-colored walls.

[ _Better than red._ ]

At this point ( _dontcountdontcount [5 months, 153 days, 3672 hours, too many minutes])_ he’s sure some of the doctors or nurses consider him a part of the décor.

A lone soldier figurine in honor of the fallen comrade.

No, not fallen. Sleeping. The heart monitor keeps beeping [ _no sync, no music_ ], so it has to mean something.

He commandeers some space for himself (a small table and a very uncomfortable chair), a shadow of life, and writes his reports listening to Chris breathing.

He denies orders accompanied by the mechanical beeping.

He cries so quietly the nurses don’t notice (until they look up, startled and humbled by the lone soldier figurine that’s still _alive_ ).

“Go home,” Claire orders, but she’s not looking at him. She’s looking at the unnaturally still form of her brother. She’s looking at the husk of the only family she has left. “Go home, Piers.”

He doesn’t say a thing, voice stuck somewhere between _I’m sorry_ and _I should’ve done better_.

She doesn’t notice, lost in the heavy clouds of her grief, with a [ _blood_ ]red halo hiding her eyes.

Jill comes by with short [ _still blonde, still a memento_ ] hair and short temper. She screams and Piers flinches.

She screams, her words burning like fire and accurate like a sniper shot. She screams, her voice raw and bleeding, falling on deaf ears of [ _their_ ] captain.

She sits on the floor, tangles her fingers with Piers’ in iron grip and asks him _why._

[ _Piers stands rigid and alone, for hours at attention, his muscles sore and screaming, but the funeral is slow. A farce of grief, six folded flags and six wailing families. He stands at attention, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters asking, yelling, begging, why their boys, for what good._

 _Piers stands rigid and alone, for hours at attention, saying goodbye to friends and comrades, his family._ ]

Jill leaves, no answers, mismatched pieces of hope in hands, and comes back every day with food and clothes.

“You have to look your best,” she presses loving kisses to his cheeks and takes empty containers back.

People come and go, no-one stays long, afraid of seeing _the Redfield_ like this. No-one comes for Piers.

[ _Lie. The brass comes. A general with haunted eyes and twitchy fingers, annoyed and tired with Piers’ insistent no, when they send new orders his way._

_He barely glances at the man, the legend on the bed, but drills holes in the man, the soldier in the corner, who doesn’t flinch and stares right back._

_The general nods, hands Piers his new assignment and leaves without a word._

_Hours later, long after the man leaves, Piers cries.]_

The nurses eye him with worry and wonder. He’s here, when they start and when they leave, and there’s no hollow shadows to his cheeks, just vast emptiness in his eyes.

He clings to Jill’s iron grip, doesn’t look at Claire’s halo, writes reports and breathes, _breathes, breathes_.

He keeps breathing for Chris.

He has a tablet full of encrypted files, walls and walls of protection (five months are a long time to learn) and he knows _her_ every move.

Ada’s good, the best and she smiles at the camera like she’s in a reality show, and Piers imagines the [red] dot between her dark eyes, the resistance of the trigger, the velocity of the bullet.

[ _He imagines being a cold blooded murderer and he still doesn’t sleep at night._ ]

Deep in the night, witching hour at its peak, he kneels by the bed and doesn’t touch.

He kneels by the bed, rests his head on the frame and breathes.

“You need to wake up,” he breathes, voice raw and unused. “You need to wake up, because I can’t do this without you.”

He stutters, chokes on air and lets it rattle in his ribcage.

“I can’t hunt her without you. I can’t bring her to justice alone,” he _can_ , has the authorization, the squad at the ready, trigger happy and suicidal. _He doesn’t want them._ “I can’t avenge them without you.”

The morning nurse finds him bend over the classified paperwork, that he guards like a vicious dog. She doesn’t want to know what’s inside, but if she did – _she’d be dead_.

He leaves – first time in months, his little corner neatly cleaned, the green of his uniform jarring and stiff – and comes back weeks later with a scar on his brow and shattered collarbone.

He comes back to chatter and chaos, and blue-brown eyes staring at him intensely.

“ _Who are you?_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to say _hi!_ , pop in at [SharkTofu](https://sharktofu.tumblr.com/). I take prompts now!
> 
> Title's from Hozier's "From Eden".


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